Star Wars
by mnfowler
Summary: The Center orders Philip and Elizabeth to find out more about the American's Strategic Defense Initiative, even though the pair already believe that it is a sham program.


Washington, DC

Philip and Elizabeth sat in their car, waiting. Philip, in the driver's seat, spotted Claudia in his rear view, but not before she was almost on top of them. There was no need for her to be cautious, he thought. It was not as if Elizabeth beat the crap out of Claudia every time they met. Just that one time. Claudia got in the back seat, behind Elizabeth, and leaned in as she shut the door. A little too hard, Philip thought. This was his new Camaro, and he was getting irritated with the careless way that some people treated it. About the only person who shared his respect for the machine was his son, Henry.

Claudia got to the point. "The Center wants you to get more information about SDI."

"Star Wars again?" complained Philip. "We already found out that it is decades away from being feasible." Philip didn't bother to turn around. He knew that his protest would mean nothing. Orders were orders.

"Yes, I believe you," said Claudia, unexpectedly agreeing. "SDI is probably a sham and not operational, but the Center remains understandably worried that it might be possible, and fears that it could be used to make a preemptive strike."

"That monster Reagan would do it if he could," said Elizabeth evenly.

"So, if it is a sham," concluded Claudia, "you have to prove it."

"Have any thoughts about how we should go about that?" asked Elizabeth. "I think it's safe to say our previous source is burned."

"I trust that the two of you will come through with your usual ingenuity," said Claudia. Philip tried to gauge whether there was any sarcasm in her comment but could not. He waited while Claudia got out of his car. When she was out, she slammed the door behind her harder than necessary.

Somewhere in the Soviet Union

Anton Baklanov was sitting hunched over his desk, which, during the months since he had been engaged in doing the bidding of his Soviet kidnappers, had become cluttered with computer print outs and electronic instruments as well as pencils and scratch paper. He was reading a print out when Vasili Nikolaevich placed a glass of steaming tea on the desk so that it was within Anton's reach but not so close that it might spill on anything important. This was a clever feat considering that the desk was becoming so cluttered. Having accomplished this, Vasili sat down heavily in the chair beside Anton's desk. He was a good quarter century older than Anton and became tired easily.

"I am no closer to answers to your questions than I was before you went to get tea, Vasili Nikolaevich," said Anton without looking up. "Just so you know."

"I would not expect that," said Vasili, sounding a little hurt. "In any case, at this point, we only want your initial impression."

"Is the committee convinced that the Americans are actually building a satellite network that would knock out our missiles before they reached the western hemisphere?"

"You have put their concern most succinctly."

Anton went back to reading.

"So what is your impression?" asked Vasili.

Anton sighed exasperatedly and put down the pages. "Very well, Vasili Nikolaevich. My first impression is that this kind of technology could work only in a galaxy far, far away."

"I don't understand," said Vasili, looking very much as if he did not.

"Sorry," said Anton, "I keep forgetting that you were kidnapped and brought here years ago, so you missed 'Star Wars'."

"'Star Wars'?"

"It's an American science fiction movie."

"Ah, so you are saying that this SDI is science fiction."

"Precisely."

"This is no surprise to me because I understand that some of our sources in America have suggested as much."

"Well, then, you should believe them."

"But, you see, what if they are wrong? What if the Americans can do this?"

"Look," said Anton, getting a serious look on his face that he hoped would assure Vasili and everyone else that, despite his continued resentment at having been kidnapped, Anton was too dedicated a scientist to do less than his best work. He took a pencil and a piece of rough hand towel from the men's room, which he used because it was more plentiful than any other kind of paper. He began drawing a circle with tiny crosses hovering above it. "This is the earth. Here are satellites for this strategic defense." He drew arced lines from the "earth" up to the crosses. "These are our missiles. As long as there is a satellite for each and every missile, and as long as a given satellite is near enough to a given missile, then yes, they could knock out our missiles, but they would need 2,000 or more such satellites to cover every possible trajectory. I just don't see how this could be done."

Vasili studied the drawing. "Very interesting, but I cannot submit this to the committee. You will have to write it up as a detailed report. They will want more convincing proof than a sketch on some toilet paper."

"Vasili Nikolaevich," said Anton, "please tell me you don't use this sandpaper for going to the toilet."

Philip and Elizabeth were having a private moment after breakfast while their two children were upstairs putting the finishing touches on preparations for school. Elizabeth packed Henry's lunch in his "Star Wars" lunchbox.

"I think I might know someone who can put us in touch with a good theoretical physicist," said Elizabeth.

"Does he work for the government?" asked Philip. "Because if he doesn't, the Center isn't going to be impressed."

"He might know people who do," said Elizabeth. "We can go from there."

"I don't know," said Philip. "Sounds kind of iffy. I'm thinking more of a sure thing."

"Like?"

"Like Annelise."

"You call that a sure thing?" scoffed Elizabeth. "She's an amateur."

"With a husband who's an undersecretary of defense," said Philip, annoyed that Elizabeth was always difficult when it came to Annelise. The wife of a government official is always useful even if, as was true in the case of Annelise, he always needed to hold her hand. "She's up for it," he said, "and she's our best option."

"Why don't we do both," suggested Elizabeth. "You try your way, and I'll try mine. Whatever we come up with, we can pool our results."

"Sounds like a compromise to me," said Philip, putting his arms around Elizabeth from behind and giving her a kiss on the neck. She turned her head around and kissed him on the lips. The kiss lasted more than a couple of seconds.

But then, Henry and Paige bounded down the stairs, so the parental unit broke contact, and Philip wandered a few steps, looking for some way to look as if he had been doing something else all along. Elizabeth put the finishing touches on Henry's lunch and closed the lid. Henry was animatedly telling Paige about his homework assignment. "…And then Lincoln freed the slaves," he said. "That's why I think he's the greatest president of the United States."

"Did they tell you that he only freed slaves living in the Confederate States, the ones who were not actually in Union territory?" Elizabeth said as she handed Henry his lunchbox.

"I guess," said Henry as he took his lunchbox.

"Then he really didn't free anybody, did he?" Elizabeth said.

"Henry was speechless, which was rare for him.

"What you mother means…," Philip began to say.

"I meant what I meant," rejoined Elizabeth, looking crossly at him.

"OK," said Philip. "Get your things together. The bus is here any minute." He clapped his hands together in a satisfying smack that he wished could clear the air for good. "Come on."

"You take Henry," said Elizabeth, "I want to talk to Paige."

"Aw, Mom," said Paige.

"She'll miss her bus," said Philip.

"Then I'll drive her to school," replied Elizabeth.

"I better leave right away myself, then," said Philip. "The travel agency won't open itself." He gave Elizabeth a quick kiss and then led Henry out the door.

"Do you think Lincoln was the greatest president, Dad?" asked Henry as they were on the way out.

"I don't know, Henry. I've always felt that Millard Fillmore was a very under-rated president."

When they were gone, Paige leaned against the counter and watched her mother rinse her hands in the sink. "What did you want to talk about, Mom?"

"There is an anti-nuke rally this afternoon," Elizabeth began.

"I know. The church group is going. Does that mean I can go with them?"

"Well," Elizabeth said slowly, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain, "the church isn't the only group that's against nukes."

"I know, Mom," said Paige, "but the church is the only group I know."

"Well, what if I introduce you to another group?" She turned to face Paige. "You don't have to join this other group. Just meet them."

"You're going to go with me?" asked Paige.

"Just to introduce you. Then I'll leave and let you get acquainted."

"Who are they?"

"Just a group led by somebody I knew a long time ago, but they're really dedicated to the anti-nuke cause." She grew wistful. "To every good cause," she added. She was silent for a long moment.

"Well, OK," said Paige to break the silence. "Does this mean you're dropping me off and picking me up from school?"

"I must be," said Elizabeth, taking off her apron and grabbing her keys.

Anton stood before the committee that oversaw the lab where he worked. The committee members sat opposite him along a long wooden table, each with a copy of Anton's report in front of him, but Anton only paid attention to the man they called Yevgeny Ilyich, a bulldog with a crew-cut and an ill-fitting gray suit.

"So you think SDI won't work," said Yevgeny Ilyich without looking up from the report.

"That is correct, Comrade," said Anton.

Yevgeny looked up at him. "Am I truly your comrade?"

Anton ignored the challenge, looking over Yevgeny's head at the pictures of Andropov and Lenin on the rear wall of the committee room. Finally he said, "For the reasons I cite in my report, I am not convinced that such a defense system would, in fact, work."

"What if I suggest that you are a disloyal refusnik who would say anything to undermine Soviet defenses?"

"I will hardly deny that I am not here by my own choosing," said Anton, "but I am loyal to scientific facts and the facts tell me that SDI cannot work."

Philip—or Scott, as he was known to Annelise—opened the dinner menu and smiled at her over its top. The maitre d' had just held Annelise's chair until she sat down, then he moved away to let them decide. Philip had already ordered wine, but it had yet to arrive.

"Cut to the chase, Scott," she said. "Who do I have to sleep with this time?"

"Your husband," he said, "but only if you want to."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Well, as always, if you don't really want to sleep with him, you don't have to."

"B.S.," she said.

"I beg your pardon, Madam," said the waiter, holding the bottle he had just uncorked.

"Your favorite," said Scott/Philip confidently.

After they ordered, Scott explained that while he was not asking her to go against the interests of her country, he needed to confirm that a system called SDI was a viable defense, because Sweden needed to be under the same umbrella in the event of nuclear war.

"You're asking me to wheedle classified information from my husband," Annelise said. "If he gets suspicious, I have nowhere to run."

"I'll coach you through it," Scott said. "He won't suspect a thing."

"Do you, personally, need to know this secret?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Oh, now you're articulate," she said. Their waiter arrived and they were quiet while he set out the plates of entrees and side dishes.

When they were alone again, Annelise asked, "Is it just some bald bureaucrat in Stockholm who cares about this, or do you care?"

"Well, I would like to be protected from nuclear war, too," said Scott.

"Then stay in the United States," she said. "I wouldn't mind that."

Scott took the cue—as well as Annelise's hand—and said, "I'd love to, but I'm not sure that SDI works. Some in my country have been given assurances, but then some have their doubts."

"Wouldn't my government tell your government the truth?"

"You would think so, but if it is a sham, your government couldn't know who to trust in my government to keep it secret from the Soviets."

"That's a legitimate concern, isn't it?"

"Look at me, Annelise."

"What?"

Scott squeezed her hand. "Look at me. I would never betray you or your country, and I would never lie to you."

Annelise smiled.

Elizabeth walked quickly as she led Paige to a knot of young people marching in front of the nuclear power plant. They were virtually indistinguishable from all of the other protesters with signs and banners except that these signs and banners were mostly red in background or font and bore slogans like "Young Socialists Say No Nukes." The man in the lead was a tall, thin African-American in a white shirt and blue denim jacket over a pair of blue jeans.

"Weldon," called Elizabeth.

"Liz," beamed the man. He rushed forward and embraced her. She hugged him back.

"Weldon, this is my daughter, Paige," said Elizabeth rather formally. "Paige, this is Weldon Bishop, an old friend of a friend."

"Oh," said Weldon, smiling at Paige, "she knows me a little better than that."

"How come you call my mom, 'Liz'," asked Paige. "Nobody calls her that."

"Well, I used to," he said. "We were classmates back in the early days." He looked at Elizabeth and the smile faded. "Sorry to hear about Greg," he said.

"So was I," said Elizabeth.

"You here to join the protest?" asked Weldon, a catch of surprise in his voice.

"I'm afraid I can't, but my daughter has expressed an interest in this kind of activism. In fact, she was at the protest at that military base a few months back."

"No fooling? We were there, too," Weldon said looking at Paige as if trying to recall whether he had seen her before. "Well, I suppose that's enough reminiscing," he said. "Everybody, this is Paige Jennings. Paige is going to join us today." He looked inquiringly at Paige.

"You want to?" asked Elizabeth.

"Sure," said Paige.

"Are you sure you can't stay, too?" Weldon asked Elizabeth.

"I'm afraid I have a meeting in half an hour, but could I speak to you for a moment?"

"I got a minute," he said. Then to Paige, "You go on now and mingle. I know Haley there has an extra sign for you to carry. I'll be with you in a few."

Paige walked over to the girl Weldon had indicated. She was dressed a little like a lumberjack, which made Paige who was still in her school clothes feel over-dressed. "Hi, I'm Haley,' said the girl. "You want to take this placard and walk in front of me?"

"Sure," said Paige and she took the sign and fell in with the march in a circle in front of the gates of the nuclear plant.

Away from the rest, Weldon looked worried. "I don't want to tell you your business, but aren't you kind of blowing your cover?"

"I've noticed that anti-nuclear protests have been spreading, and even people who are not especially committed to anything are becoming involved. It doesn't mean anything for me to stop by here."

Weldon nodded, though he still seemed doubtful, then Elizabeth asked, "You still have contacts at that newspaper?"

"You mean, 'The Washington WeekEnd'? The editor and I are like this." He wrapped his middle finger over his index.

Elizabeth laughed. "That's awfully close. Are you sure you want to advertise that?"

"Well, I did marry her," said Weldon.

"Oh, Weldon, I had no idea you had gotten married."

"Well, you and I don't usually advertize our connection," he said. "So I gather this is more than just a social call."

"Yes, I might come into some information that I might or might not want to leak to the press, and I was hoping that you might be able to help me with that."

"Well, if you can clear up those 'mights' I'll be glad to do what I can."

"Great. Well, it's terrific to see you, Weldon."

"No, it's a real pleasure to see you." Then he added, "You want me to bring Paige home after this?"

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind. Paige can give you directions. I heard this will be over by eight."

"Not much point protesting after the dark. She'll be home by 8:30, and I'll be sure not to let her spend the night in jail."

Elizabeth laughed. "She'd better not."

Annelise rolled onto her back as her husband, Douglas, expelled a satisfied gasp. "Man! It hasn't been this good between us in ages."

Annelise pursed her lips. "Have I been that bad a wife?"

"Sorry, honey," said Douglas. "Let's not spoil the moment. How about a drink?"

"What do you have in mind?" She smiled at him.

Douglas got up, tugged on a robe, and padded across the bedroom to the liquor cabinet. He brought back two glasses and a bottle of vintage cognac. He poured the first drink.

"I didn't mean to snap at you," she said, taking her drink from him. "I feel so useless, and I'm sorry I take it out on you."

"What makes you feel useless?" he asked.

"I guess I'm envious that you have an interesting career to lose yourself in, and I don't."

"Really?" he said.

"Besides," she went on, "the state of the world being what it is has me feeling so insecure." They drank for a while, and then he offered her a refill. She took it and then he refilled his own glass.

"I'm concerned about the end of the world," Annelise said.

"That seems awfully melodramatic," Douglas replied.

"Melodramatic?" she said, a little unsteady in her words. "You work for the Defense Department. You must be worried yourself about the nuclear threat."

"I assure you that the United States is doing everything it can to protect the free world," he said.

"Forgive me sweetheart," she said, "but you sound like a press release."

"But we are," he said.

"Give me a for instance," she said.

"Our Navy and Air Force outnumber the Soviets by hundreds of thousands and we have them hedged in. It's called containment. We've been doing it for decades, and despite a few hiccups, we've done pretty well."

"But President Reagan says that NATO has fewer tanks than the Soviets. They face 50,000 Soviet tanks. That sounds like our side is hedged in."

Douglas smiled. "I'll tell you a little secret if you promise not to let on to anyone."

"Cross my heart," said Annelise, and she did.

"Every year, we have to ask Congress for more money for defense, and they want a good reason. Well, if the Soviets have a big army, then we need a big army, and if they have 50,000 tanks, then we need to counter that and that means more money for our budget. It's the same with any department at any level of government. If the dogcatcher wants more money, he's got to show that there are more stray dogs than he can handle with his present budget."

"What does this have to do with the 50,000 Soviet tanks in Eastern Europe?"

"I'm getting to that. The Soviet military brags that it has that many tanks, but they don't. You see, they have to tell their Politburo that they are the biggest, baddest military on the planet, so they pad their numbers. They get more money by telling their Politburo that the U.S. has started building more, but we started building more only because we bought the lies they told their people about how strong they are."

"Does the president know this?"

"Reagan? Well, you know how he says that he eats whatever's set in front of him?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the CIA gets hold of whatever the Soviet generals tell their Politburo, and then the CIA feeds it to the president, and he swallows it."

"So the Soviets don't have 50,000 tanks."

"No, and besides, if they did, and if all those tanks were within a day's ride of Western Europe, it would come as a shock to the Mujahadin in Afghanistan who think that at least some of those Soviet tanks are in their country."

Philip sat in the back of a van across the street from their house, listening over headphones. He frowned. "Come on, Annelise," he muttered to himself. "Stay on topic."

"What about the nuclear threat," asked Annelise.

Douglas began speaking about comparative numbers of missiles and the theory of mutual assured destruction.

"What about Star Wars?" Annelise interrupted.

"What about it? Haven't we seen it twice already?"

"You know what I mean. Can we really knock Soviet missiles out of the sky before they strike?"

"You seem awfully keen on this subject. How come?"

"Because I want to know whether I'm going to wake up to a nuclear holocaust tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, honey, I didn't know you're worried about these things."

"Well, I am."

Douglas furrowed his brow. "Look, I'm not a particularly religious man, but I've always felt that maybe it's Providence that, since we haven't blown up the world yet, we probably won't."

"Oh, 'probably'. That makes me feel secure."

Douglas's brow became more deeply furrowed. "Look, don't spread this around."

"I won't."

"No, I mean it. This is top secret and I could lose my whole career or even go to prison for telling you."

"Cross my heart. I swear."

"SDI—or Star Wars as people keep calling it—doesn't work, but it isn't supposed to work, technically. That isn't what it's meant to do."

"What is it meant to do?"

Douglas sighed. "It's meant to fool the Soviets into worrying and spending money to try to catch up to our supposed SDI capability. They'll go bankrupt trying to do that, and then they'll collapse, and we won't have to worry about global thermonuclear war anymore."

"That's the plan?"

"That's it in the proverbial nutshell."

"So if other countries thought they needed to be under the same SDI umbrella, what would you tell them?"

"Well, if we really trusted them, we'd probably tell their top intelligence people what we are actually doing."

"Have you?"

"I don't know. That isn't my call, so I'm not in the loop on that."

"But you think that we've probably told, say, Sweden that SDI is a trick to bleed the Soviets."

Philip, still listening from across the street, winced. "Don't go fishing where you might regret it, Annelise," he muttered to himself.

"Sweden?" said Douglas. "What makes you think of that country?"

"Well, I was trying to think of some other country besides the U.K., 'cause I guess we would tell them if we told anybody."

"You might think that," said Douglas, "but ever since the Kim Philby thing, we haven't even trusted the Brits with top secret information."

Paige was carrying her sign at the anti-nuke rally with her new friends when she saw Pastor Tim with the group from church, and Pastor Tim saw her. He came over and marched along side but just outside of their group.

"Hi, Paige. I didn't expect to see you here," he said. "In fact, I haven't seen you lately. Are your parents still against your participation in the church?"

"No," said Paige, "but I'm hanging out with some new friends."

"I can see," said Pastor Tim. He looked at the red banners and signs with clearly socialist messages. "These are your new friends?"

"Yes."

Haley, marching behind Paige, said, "Yeah, we don't need Jesus to know nukes are poison." She spat at Tim's shoes. Paige stopped in mid stride so that Haley actually collided with her. Paige looked down at the spittle glistening on Pastor Tim's shoe.

"Don't do that!" snapped Weldon at Haley. "I'm sorry, Pastor Tim. The young don't always understand."

"Yeah," said Pastor Tim. "That's what I've heard."

Weldon turned to Haley and the rest, but he particularly looked at Paige. "Pastor Tim and I met when we were sitting in at lunch counters in the '60s," said Weldon. Then to Pastor Tim, "I don't know if kids today even know what that means."

"A lot has happened since then," said Tim. "Do Paige's parents know she's here? With you?"

"Yes. Are you concerned about her soul, Tim?"

"You know me, Weldon, I'm concerned about everyone's soul—even yours."

"Well, I don't have one, Tim. Never did."

"If you say so," said Tim, looking again at Paige. "Well, take good care of Paige. She's a good girl." He went back to his flock of protesters.

"We will," Weldon called after him. "Stop worrying."

Annelise met with Philip, and he debriefed her.

"Something worries me," she said. "If the only strength of SDI is that it's a ruse, what if the Soviets find that out?"

"Don't worry," said Philip. "I know the people in my government will protect the secret."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I know how to make sure that I only communicate this to the people in my service who will keep it on a strictly need-to-know basis."

Elizabeth stood by the storm fence looking out at the bay. It was a sunny day and she wore aviator glasses a blue headscarf over a blonde wig. She had waited patiently for several minutes, but she now sensed someone approaching. A middle-aged man with graying hair and a tweed jacket with elbow patches. He joined her and leaned against the fence.

"Have you read the Bible?" the man asked.

"I never got past Genesis," she replied.

"Perhaps you should read the Quran, then."

"Never got past the first surah," she answered.

"You can call me Hatch," he said.

"Mary," she answered.

"About Star Wars," he began. "I don't work for the government, but I do know people who are for the cause, and I can get documents from them. Hell, I can get some of them to blow the whistle."

"That might be necessary. Not anyone too sensitively placed, though. We don't want to needlessly compromise anyone."

"Don't worry. There are plenty of physicists on the inside who are sympathetic to us, but they haven't a clue when they're leaking to us or otherwise doing exactly what we want. Including blowing a whistle now and again."

"So, it's true. SDI is a hoax."

"Yes," said Hatch. "Of course, a lot of the scientists who are in a position to expose it don't know that it's a hoax. They believe Reagan is dumb enough to believe in SDI himself. I don't know for sure whether he does, but plenty of people close to him know the truth."

"Can you get one of these guys to talk to the press? I mean, I know a newspaper that can publish such a story. They're cooperative and they're perfect because they aren't high profile, but anything they publish will appear in other newspaper all around the country within a week."

"And they'll be expecting our whistle blower?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth.

Douglas was walking passed a newsstand on a DC street. He stopped to buy a newspaper and was drawn to the headline on the "Washington WeekEnd." It read: "Reagan Defense Initiative Won't Work, Physicists Say." Douglas was stunned. He took a copy of the paper.

"You gonna buy that, pal?" said the proprietor.

Philip received a panicked phone call from Annelise.

"Scott, did you leak this?" she asked.

"No, Annelise," said Philip, "I would never do that. I told you. And please, only use this phone number in emergencies."

"This is an emergency," she said. "It's a crisis. What if Douglas thinks I leaked it? He'll kill me."

"Look, if you had leaked it, wouldn't the story say that it's a ruse? Instead, it just says it won't work. These scientists figured it out for themselves. They don't know that it's supposed to be a ruse, and neither do the journalists who published the story."

"What if Douglas confronts me?"

"Deny it. And if he presses, just say what I just said to you."

USSR

Anton stood once more before the committee, but this time something was different. The atmosphere was not that of a room where everyone was out to get him.

Yevgeny Ilyich looked only slightly uncomfortable as he said, "The committee would like to apologize for doubting Comrade Anton Baklanov," he began. "It seems that our sources in America confirm your evaluation of this SDI program." Yevgeny looked searchingly at Anton who did not know what Yevgeny was searching for, so he gave him nothing. He kept his face blank.

"In recognition for your service to your country, we hereby promote you to head of the laboratory."

"I am very grateful for this honor, but what about Vasili Nikolaevich?"

"We are grateful for his service, but now we have other duties for him. Of course, it will be necessary for you to be given higher security clearance commensurate with your new responsibilities."

"Thank you, comrade," said Anton, and he thought to himself, _the better to sabotage your efforts_.


End file.
